


By Your Side

by Riverwater12



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - World War II, Everyone you love, Fighter Pilot Dean, Gen, I am so sorry, Minor Character Death, So much death, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, World War II, i'm a bad person, you clicked on a WWII fic you best be expecting some tears
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-17 02:34:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4648956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riverwater12/pseuds/Riverwater12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean are WWII soldiers serving in the European theater. After Sam is horribly injured, the brothers find themselves trapped behind enemy lines. Desperate to keep Sam alive, Dean finds refuge for him in a basement... Castiel's basement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies ahead of time for erratic updates. Feel free to bug me about it at my tumblr! URL: Riverdancingcas
> 
> This is a story that, admittedly, came to me years ago when Supernatural was at its peak, and all these years later still begs to be written. As such, most of the characters are from seasons 1-5 and I tried to keep that same brotherly feel going in this fic. Major character death and hurt coming up; it's a war story after all.  
> Inspired by By Your Side- House of Heroes

**Prologue:**

Clods of dirt the size of bowling balls sailed into the air and Sam couldn't help but think they were like fireworks, the way they seemed to burst into a million little pieces of tiny rocks and soil as the world exploded underneath his feet. He watched them dissolve in the air, in perfect sync with the orchestra of gunfire around them. The perfect combination of noises and lights, just like the Fourth of July…

"SAM, YA IDJIT! GET DOWN!" His commanding officer pulled him down into the dirt just as another mortar went off and Sam snapped back into the moment, scrambling back into a foxhole with Bobby still keeping a hard grip on the collar of his jacket. Everything was chaos.

Soldiers were scrambling to take cover as the skeletons that were once trees were torn from the ground with the force of the explosions, sharp pieces of wood shattering every which way and embedding themselves in some poor bastard. Everything was shouting and explosions and gunpowder. A soldier from his squad, no his friend: a kid named Andy, was pressing his hands over another man's chest shouting "Medic!"But everyone was too occupied at the moment.

"SAM!"

Sam's eyes snapped wide open. Even in the chaos of the moment he'd know that voice anywhere: Dean, he had to get to Dean. Scrambling out of Bobby's grip he made a run for it, Bobby's angry voice shouting after him, "WINCHESTER! Get back here! Damnit, that's an order! SAM!"

He ran toward the voice, searching it out like a man starving. Gunfire still flashed all around him and the fact that he was actually running toward the enemy was only a minor blip in his train of thought. Dean was here, Dean was alive, he just needed to find his brother then everything would be ok. "Dean!"

And suddenly, he was there, standing in the middle of the clearing that was strangely still covered in green. His helmet had been taken off and he was wearing his plain black shirt and that aviator jacket from home instead of his dark green uniform like the rest of them. Dean turned to smile at him in that familiar annoying-ass-of-a-brother smile that said "Were you actually worrying about me?"

Sam rushed forward in relief, grinning like an idiot, his smile twisting into horror as an explosion went off just behind Dean. "DEAN!"

Dean didn't seem to hear him though; he just kept on smiling as the light from the explosion lit up perfectly behind him and the wind blasted his jacket forward. For a second, just a second, Dean looked larger than life, bathed in the golden light like some kind of comic book hero or the angels who Jessica said supposedly carried out God's wrath. And then time started again and the explosion engulfed them both.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For any of you history buffs out there, let it be known that I did an ungodly amount of research for this fic- like way more dedication was used to research for this fic than any other assignment ever...  
> As it happens, this was also years ago and some knowledge may be a little fuzzy. There may be inaccuracies, sorry!

December 1943

3 Months. It had only been 3 months since Dean had shipped out overseas and was now probably flying somewhere over northern France. Sam never would have believed it if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes. Dean: a pilot; the same Dean who had sworn up and down only years before that he'd never set foot in one of those cages of metal was now trusting his life to them even under the risk of enemy fire. And whether Sam wanted to admit it or not, he was a damn good pilot too. Though his testing scores had just barely slid by and the first couple weeks were a bit hairy, Dean finally got his wings and turned out to be a natural in the air.

Sam re-read the messily written letter from his brother for the umpteenth time. All the letters were censored of course, whole sentences blacked out in an effort to keep any potential enemies in the dark. (Sam chuckled at his own joke.) Not that anyone would get much from Dean's letters anyway, unless hearing about recent escapades with local women and how many packs of chewing gum and cigarettes he'd won that day at cards was somehow important to the opposing forces.

The letters were covered in horribly drawn doodles of Daffy Duck though, and Dean had always joked that maybe if Daffy taught himself to speak some French he wouldn't be such a stooge and could finally get himself a girl or two. It had worked for Dean, but then, Dean was never exactly short of girls especially now that he was in uniform. His brother was in France, Sam just knew it. He himself only had a couple weeks left before he'd be shipped out east for Basic to join him and the thousands of others their age.

His thoughts were interrupted by a pillow to the face.

"Dammit, Andy!" He twisted around in his chair to swat at the kid who just grinned and jumped back out of reach. His smile was wide and goofy and he just couldn't seem to ever keep still…

"Come on, Sam! We're only going to be here for a few more weeks and dammit we are going to get you a girl! As your best pals, we can't let our Sammy go overseas without a girl to write to, right Zack?"

Zack, his other roommate, just made a small distracted noise, concentrating on the pin-up of smiling girls he had his nose buried in.

"It's Sam." He corrected, turning back to fold away the letter he'd been looking at. "And you just want to see Eva again." He rolled his eyes and finished sealing the envelope full of the latest issues of DC and Timely Comics for Dean.

Andy's face lit up and he practically swooned "Damn right I do, she's a real doll! And boy can she dance…" He frowned seeing both his friends ignoring him. "SAM!" He attacked with the pillow again.

Sam was ready this time and he easily blocked the pillow and tore it from his hands, making Andy resort to begging on his knees, flailing his arms wildly and closing the distance between them (still on his knees) to grip Sam's legs dramatically. "Sam, plea-ea-eassse! I need to see her! Just come with me, I know you'll have a good time, just help me out here!"

"I don't want to go to a dance," he said, pushing Andy away. "Besides, there are always twenty guys for every girl anyway. We'll just be standing there like high school rejects."

"You'll be standing there like a high school reject, I'll be dancing with Eva." He retorted, as if that would somehow help his case.

Zack finally poked his head out of the magazine, shrugging. "I hear they have good food there, and the local girls aren't half bad."

"Fine." Sam threw his hands in the air in defeat to Andy's great delight. "I don't see what you expect out of this though, we're only here for a couple more weeks then we're being transferred east."

"So we might as well take advantage while we can," said Zack, slapping him on the back. "We're in California, I hear the girls are wild; let's live a little Sammy!"

He just glared at both of them. "It's Sam… Whose side are you on anyway, you dirty traitor?"

"The one that gets me pretty women."

* * *

 

A couple hours later and Sam was following them both reluctantly down the street to the local Red Cross building which had been covered in bright red, white, and blue streamers in an attempt to make the blackened out windows look more cheery. A couple old ladies smiled at them and now Sam just wanted to head back to base.

The place was crawling with other soldiers peering hopefully at the handful of girls who were smiling and waving teasingly. After all, USO dances were supposed to be the best places to meet a girl. One of them, a pretty brunette, kept pretending to adjust her stockings, making her dress pull up way past her knees and causing one guy to choke on his punch.

"Andy?" A girl's voice called out behind them. Andy whipped around. "EVA!" He bounded toward her like an excited puppy to Zack's amusement. "Two days and she's already got him on her beck and call." He muttered with a grin and Sam smirked as they walked up to join them.

Three girls greeted them with smiles as they walked up. Andy had his hand linked with a tiny brunette with wide eyes who smiled warmly. "Sorry for dragging you two into this. These are my friends-"

Just then, one of the old ladies nodded for the band to start playing. They picked up their horns and started to play "And the Angels Sing." Andy's eyes widened impossibly even more than usual.

"Sam! Zack!" Andy pointed to each of them in turn before pulling Eva toward the dance floor. "Now come on, this is our song!"

Sam blinked and turned to Zack. "Well… this is just-"

Zack turned to the tall blonde and smiled, and without another word, they walked off together towards the dance floor, leaving Sam with the third girl, who had green eyes and dirty-blonde hair.

She shook her head, "Dirty traitors."

Sam smiled. "I'll say."

She grinned up at him, extending a hand "I'm Jessica"

"Sam." He glanced outside; the stars had managed to force their light through the bright city ones, a spectacular sight. "I'm.. Not much of a dancer- but would you, maybe, want to come on a walk with me instead?"

She glanced back at their friends on the dance floor, but only for a second, before turning back to him and nodding eagerly.

"Definitely" They pushed past the crowd of eager young men at the door and into the cool San Francisco air.

 

* * *

 

"I got you a present."

"Oh really?" Sam grinned. He had walked to Jessica's house to spend time with her before he had to be shipped off for basic training at some place called Camp Wheeler in Georgia and now they were headed to the wharf. It had been 2 weeks since they'd met at the dance. Something between them had just clicked so now they were always together and Andy made fun of him relentlessly for it. This was the last he might see of her for a long time.

Jessica nodded. The city bus reached their stop and she took his offered hand, leaping lightly off the steps. They pushed past the crowds of people on the street, heading toward the tiny stretch of sand that was excused as a beach in the city.

They reached the beach and found a quiet spot and, laying a towel out, Sam made himself comfortable with Jess leaning back into his arms.

"Well, what is it?"

She pursed her lips. "Well, I know it's nothing special or anything, but my daddy suggested it being a preacher and all and it didn't seem like a bad idea so..." She shrugged and gave him a shy smile before reaching into a pocket in her dress to pull out a silver pin, placing it gently in Sam's palm.

He held it up with two fingers. It was a little circle of medal engraved with an image of a long-haired man with wings carrying a trumpet in the center. He was staring back at Sam with an intense gaze.

Jessica leaned her head against his shoulder, watching him. "So, what do you think?"

"Wow, he looks cheesed about something…"

She smirked and rolled her eyes. "I had my dad figure out who your guardian angel is. That's Gabriel, he's an archangel." Her gaze turned serious now. "He's supposed to protect you."

Turning the pin around in his hand again he teased "So I'm going to be off somewhere fighting guys with guns… and this guy in a dress is going to help me?"

That made her smile a little and she smacked his arm. "That guy in a dress is one of the most powerful angels in heaven Sam Winchester, and if you're not careful I might tell him to come down here just to teach you a thing or two about what manliness really is."

He rolled his eyes and lifted her chin to look into her green ones. "Yea? Well if I happen to see any cheesed off men in dresses overseas I'll be sure to let you know."

She stared back, the worry clear on her face again. "Just… make sure you come back."

"I'll be back" he assured her. Holding her face in his hands, he gave her a soft kiss. 'I've got Gabriel now, remember?"


	3. Chapter 3

 

"Shurley!"

Chuck sprang up from the little table on the air base, standing to attention as his commanding officer stormed into view, "Y-yes, sir?" He tried to keep his eyes straight ahead but found it difficult with the man now only inches from his face.

"Where's Winchester?" He wasn't yelling but he may as well have, his tone was cold and sharp, hell Chuck would have preferred yelling. This was just downright terrifying. _Crap… Time to go with Plan B_. Still trying to stand at attention he sputtered "Winchester, sir?"

Crowley rolled his eyes. Of all the RAF volunteers he had to deal with, why did it seem like the ferociously arrogant combat pilot from Kansas and his buddies were always the ones determined to treat the war like a damned holiday? "Yes, Shurley, Winchester. The cocky moron you arrived with; the one whose plane you fuel on a daily basis, remember? The one with whom you've only been working with for the _past ten weeks!"_ His voice rose into a yell.

The scrawny American opened his mouth a couple times and for a second time Crowley rolled his eyes, muttering "Bollocks…" as Chuck short-circuited. Just then, a plane roared over the main building, wheeling around for a landing. Still cursing under his breath, Crowley made his way to the hangar that housed the familiar Spitfire. He crossed his arms waiting as the plane cruised to a stop, propellers slowing.

Dean listened to the sweet Merlin engine fade as he lifted the hood off the plane with a wide grin on his face and jumped out to meet Ash, who was giving him an equally wide grin coupled with a thumbs up. "I'll be damned if she's not the best damn plane you've ever had the privilege to ride in"

Dean turned to look at the fighter plane admiringly "I'll say, nothing like flying a Spitfire. She's faster than any krauts I've had to deal with so far."

"It won't be speed that saves you when you're shot thousands of feet out of the air to your death because you decided to break formation and fuck around instead." Interrupted Crowley, taking that moment to walk up beside them causing both pilots to jump. Ash quickly busied himself with checking the ammo on the guns that hadn't been used.

Dean's eyes widened, "Crap…" Crowley gave him a smug smile and nodded his head in agreement, "Crap."

 

 

 

Dean's mouth went dry. This wasn't the first time he'd taken the Spitfire out for a run; but then, all the other times had generally been conveniently planned around the commanding officer's routine rounds off-base. Odds were someone had finally noticed one too many planes off the ground.

"Winchester! How's about a little chat?'

The man wore a smile but his eyes spoke a different story. Crowley had been on his crew's case since the day he arrived. Dean figured it was because he was so irresistible; Chuck figured it was God's way of getting back at him for breaking up with his obsessive and creepily energetic girlfriend from highschool.

_Fuck. He was really screwed now._ The cat-grin disappeared and Crowley turned and walked away from the hangar without much further ado. Ash had suddenly disappeared; probably spending his last moments with his own plane before they were both reprimanded and sent to fly observation. Shooting a last look at the gleaming plane, Dean jogged to catch up.

The hangars were well-spread in case of attack, and plane after plane reflected back the green field they were perched upon. Combat planes, battle-scarred and proud, gave way to massive bombers which in turn dwarfed the "Crickets" used for observation. Crowley hadn't said a word and so neither did Dean, the dread of losing his wings intensifying with every step. It seemed if he stayed silent for too much longer he would burst.

Nope. Silence wasn't working so well.

"Permission to speak, Sir."

Crowley gave him a side-long glance. "Granted. I must confess I'm _eager_ to hear what you have to say about this one."

"Sir, I know what this looks like."

Crowley suddenly stopped and turned to face him, forcing Dean to focus his efforts into not colliding into his commanding officer.

"Oh? And what exactly does it look like, Winchester?" The man's eyes flashed, daring Dean to grace him with yet another wild excuse for disobeying the simplest of orders.

_Sonuvabitch_. Screw observation. Crowley wasn't just going to clip his wings; he was going to tear them off completely.

"I heard a noise-"

"A noise?"

"Yes, sir. While me and Ash-"

"Ash and I."

Dean clenched his jaw while the smug little bastard met his eyes expectantly. He couldn't lose his temper… not if it meant losing his wings too. "Ash and I... While we were doing runs yesterday, we heard a noise. Something with the engine. We were just checking her out, sir."

"Checking her out?" He raised an eyebrow. "And is there any reason, Winchester, which prevented the _mechanics_ from gaining any knowledge of this engine trouble?"

Keeping his eyes forward and standing at attention, "Well, we needed to be sure, sir. Planes come back every day so banged up; it's a miracle they can even fly. We just thought we'd be doing everyone a favor if we checked it out a little ourselves, lessen the load a little... Sir." He added as an afterthought.

Any façade of pleasantry Crowley had mustered up specially to make his Privates squirm disappeared and was replaced by a grim mask of distaste, annoyance, and… exhaustion.

"You've certainly got yourself a knack for lying, I'll give you that, Winchester" The man turned and continued his path back toward the main buildings and the sleeping quarters. "Stupid and full of shit, but this is war after all." Perplexed, Dean quickened his pace to keep up.

"I had pilots, good pilots, go out in these planes. Dozens of 'em. All of 'em believing they'd be done with this whole bloody affair in a couple months." Crowley muttered, "Now look at us! More often than not their heads are decorating the insides of cockpits and all we've now are stupid cocky boys who go out thinking they're some kind of damned superhero."

_What the hell?_ What was this? Dean almost preferred yelling; at least he knew where he stood on that front. Suddenly Crowley was, what? Talking to him like some kind of old pal from school. He kept his mouth shut; suddenly unsure of just what the hell he was supposed to expect now that the man seemed to have forgotten his "borrowing" of military property. Maybe he'd get out of this scot-free after all...

"Did you enjoy your little joyride, Winchester?"

_…Or not_.

"Uhm…"

"Good. Because it seems you and the Spitfire will be parting ways."

Any control Dean had managed to grasp a hold of exploded out of just then. "You- What? You can't be serious!"

Crowley's eyes flashed and he regarded him with a cold stare. He opened his mouth to speak but Dean didn't give him the chance. His fists were clenched and it was all he could do not to get right into the smaller man's face.

" _This is bullshit_ , Sir! I've done all the damned training, a hell of a lot more than some of the pilots here; I've learned every formation, all the orders, shot down some Krauts and brought her back home without a scratch on her! I can't-!"

"You can't what?" Crowley spit back, eyes suddenly full of rage. He leaned in close, voice growing cold and lips raised in a sneer. "What is it? Do you think yourself special, boy? This isn't about you, or finding adventure or whatever the hell reasons you decided to lend your services to the army. You can't follow a simple order, and if I had it my way I'd have had you shot within a week of your arrival for all the attention you've paid to orders. Now if you're going to mope around and whine like some lovesick teenage girl then by all means, drag yourself back to the ship you arrived in, you'd be doing all of us a favor."

The look he shot at Dean would have surely made a newcomer to the base wet himself; it was proven almost daily when Chuck happened to be on the receiving end. But Dean would not be cowed so easily. He stood, jaw set and stubborn as hell, he'd admit to that, it was a Winchester thing; but under no circumstances would he ever allow himself to be labeled "coward". Taking his silence as a sign Winchester would not be taking the next boat ride home, Crowley continued.

"You and Lindberg will gather your things immediately. A ship sets out across the channel tomorrow at 06:00 sharp. I expect you both to be on it."

It felt like a hot knife had been shoved into his chest. This was it, he was being ordered back to England, stripped of his wings and the war and any shred of dignity he had left. Funny how the ground seemed so claustrophobic all of a sudden. Crowley went on.

"Once you arrive, you are to report to Sergeant Harvelle. It seems the planes that just arrived could use some sort of breaking in; at least the pair of you morons won't be a total loss to the war effort… He'll give you any further instructions from there."

It took a second to process everything, and two more just to be sure he hadn't gone completely daffy "Breaking in? As in, you're not grounding me?" And hell, it wasn't as if Crowley could think of him as any more of an idiot, he threw in " _I'm going to be flying?_ "

"It's called a Mustang... or, something or other. Still could use some good test runs but it's got the same engine as your Spitfire so at least you Americans got something done right…"

Dean's mouth dropped open several times and though they had reached a close enough distance to the main building for just about every soldier to salute their commanding officer, all he could do was restrain himself from yelling out loud and running back to brag to Ash. Finally, though, he managed a low "Thank-you, sir."

"Don't make this something I'll regret for the rest of my life, Winchester. I expect that to be wasted in pubs, not you. Shut-up and take the orders you're given, just maybe you'll make it back with some kind of honor still intact and the knowledge that you didn't spend the entirety of the war as some sort of pathetic way to win girls." Crowley gritted his teeth as if uttering the words actually caused him pain, "You're a complete moron and by no means an excellent pilot… But you're all we've got right now and we can't afford to lose a single one of you."

He met Dean's gaze, something of a challenge in his eyes. "You're a soldier now. Now stop dicking around like some cocky little schoolboy and give those Jerry's hell."

Dean just stared, composure gone, as Crowley turned and headed inside, oblivious to the men standing at attention. He paused in the doorway. "Oh, Winchester. One more thing."

The pilot finally gained his sense back and he made himself stand at attention like the others, giving a smart salute. "Sir?"

"Be sure that Shurley goes with you. If I have to hear any more of that man's incessant rambling I'll strap him to a bomb myself."

 


End file.
